Revelations in the Night
by racefh853629
Summary: FCG challenge piece. Dean has a few drinks...


A/N: I don't own Cher, Supernatural, Metallica, or any other known entity. This is my first Supernatural story, so please be kind. The story takes place sometime in between "Heaven and Hell" and "Death Takes a Holiday". I hope you guys enjoy the story, and please review. :)

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Revelations In The Night

In someone's sick idea of a practical joke, Cher blared out of the karaoke speaker while the girl on stage, someone named Lenora, tried to keep up. Clearly, Lenora didn't believe in life after love either. It wasn't that her performance sucked- she had a good voice. But she had no clue what she was trying to sing.

Dean wasn't sure what he was still doing at this damn bar, but his gut told him it was because it was the only bar in the damn town. He socked down a shot, his fifth in the hour, and signaled the bartender for another one. The bartender obliged after a quiet, "You might wanna slow down there, son."

Dean shrugged off the suggestion, dropping a bill onto the bar and taking the shot.

Mercifully, the song ended, and someone gave Lenora another chance with a better song that would be better suited for her voice. Yet, Dean decided he'd had enough of karaoke for the night. Especially since last time he checked, Metallica wasn't on their playlist. He slid slowly off the stool, making sure his legs were mostly secure under him before staggering outside the door.

He started to make his way back to the motel where he and Sam were staying. He had snuck out of there earlier, taking special care not to wake Sam in the process. That was one special skill he had- Dean could break out of almost anywhere without raising suspicion or light sleepers like Sam.

Dean had only made it about halfway back before the evening's activities caught up with him. Six shots in an hour had always been difficult for Dean to handle, even before he went to Hell. But things had been different then. Before he went to Hell, he would've never thought six shots in one hour was a good idea, unless he was hiding from something.

Which was what he was doing now.

Dean knew he had a second chance. Not everyone gets pulled out of Hell and back into their old body, which was pristine. But Dean had wished that Castiel and the angels had been able to erase his memories from his time below. Knowing what he knew about the things he had done down there… He didn't deserve this second chance.

He found an empty park along his stumble back to the motel, and took a detour into it. He sat himself down on a bench, the alcohol making his head spin slightly since he didn't have much food in his stomach and hadn't slept in weeks.

It wasn't that he wasn't tired. Dean was more exhausted than he ever had been. But it was that every time he closed his eyes, he saw himself on the rack. Alastair would be standing over him with the knife, ready to start carving again. And then the picture would change, and a tortured, sadistic version of himself was standing over other souls, performing the torture that Alastair had unleashed on him.

It made him sick.

Dean swallowed, keeping the vomit from escaping his throat. As much as he wanted to save humanity to cleanse his soul of his hellish sins, he wasn't sure he wanted to live with these memories much longer.

Castiel suddenly appeared beside him, taking a seat on the bench. If this had been any other time, Dean might have launched into some angry tirade about Castiel and the angels' recent losses of seals, or something else along those lines. But Dean was too drunk and too tired to really give a damn at the moment about Lucifer and the Apocalypse. He did have one thing for the angel, though.

"You don't belong here," he slurred, turning his head slightly to the angel.

"Right now, this is where I'm needed," Castiel replied somberly.

"To stop a seal from breaking?"

"To protect our investment."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right. I'm supposed to stop this."

"You will stop this, Dean."

Dean shook his head, then instantly regretted that decision as it made the world spin worse. Ignoring the feeling, he continued, "You angels had the power to repair my wounds, take away the scars on my body. Why couldn't you take away my memories of Hell?"

Castiel inhaled deeply, the slightest hint of some emotion rising in him. However, Castiel hadn't had enough experience with emotions to know what it was. "Physical scars are easier to treat than emotional scars," he said simply, thinking that the answer would be good enough.

"Bull. Is it some sort of fucked up angel manipulation?" Dean angrily accused, glaring at Castiel. "Keep Hell fresh in my mind so I'll be more inclined to stop it from happening on Earth?"

Castiel said nothing.

"That's it, isn't it?"

"No."

"Then what is it? You have powers. Why can't you make this go away?"

"I can appreciate how difficult this must be."

"No, you can't," Dean spat, standing up off the bench and almost falling over in the process. Castiel stood as well, trying to stop Dean from tumbling. "You angels can't feel a thing," Dean continued. "You don't know what it's like. You've never been to Hell. Do you know what he did to me down there?"

"Yes," Castiel replied. "And, I'm sorry for what you've gone through."

Dean felt his anger slip away as the alcohol and Castiel's apology sank deep into him. "How can you be sorry, Cas?" he asked softly and thoughtfully.

Castiel looked away from Dean.

"You don't have feelings," Dean continued, plopping sadly onto the bench. "Which, I guess can be good for you, considering you gotta be able to annihilate entire towns."

"That part is… unfortunate," Castiel replied.

"Do you even know what 'unfortunate' means?"

Castiel didn't reply.

Dean sighed, dropping his head back against the top of the bench. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and stewing in the alcohol in his system. Castiel remained standing close by, simply watching his charge.

"Why are you really here, Cas?" Dean asked suddenly, not moving from his position on the bench.

"Because you need it," Castiel replied. "It doesn't matter that you told Sam what happened in Hell."

"Are you an angel or a therapist?"

Castiel fell silent, just watching Dean.

Dean flinched, suddenly realizing what Castiel had been getting at. "I do have a question for you," he said softly, opening his eyes again. "What's going to happen to me?"

"What do you mean?" Castiel replied.

"When I die again. What's going to happen to me?"

Castiel looked down at the ground, a hint of another emotion crashing over him. Again, though, he was unable to determine what emotion it was. "I don't know, Dean," Castiel said honestly. "That isn't my department."

"What exactly _is _your department?"

Castiel said nothing.

"Do they have a department for stopping the Apocalypse?"

"We do."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes again.

"You should get back to the motel," Castiel said after a few moments of silence.

Dean nodded again, re-opening his eyes. "Yeah, and you should get back to saving seals."

"I shouldn't need to come here like this again, Dean," the angel warned.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean looked down as he placed his hands on the bench. When he rose, he found that Castiel was gone. He shrugged to himself, stumbling back the rest of the way to the motel and finding Sam sitting on the edge of his bed, fully awake.

"Where were you?" the younger man asked softly, more concerned than anything else.

"Karaoke night," Dean said, shrugging and laying down on his stomach on the other bed.

"You okay?"

Dean shot a tired look at Sam, who nodded.

"Getting off your case," Sam said, climbing back into his own bed. He heard Dean grunt as the older brother readjusted his position in the other bed.

"There are some things that…" Dean started before pausing. He rolled onto his side, turning his back to Sam. "…That you can't understand. And… I don't want you to understand."

Sam nodded.

"You can't understand what those thirty years were like in Hell. And, it's better that way. I hope you never have to find out what it's like down there."

"Given our life, I doubt that's gonna happen," Sam said softly, watching his older brother.

Dean shrugged indifferently, swallowing back the tears that threatened to come out with the vomit he was holding back.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what you went through down there."

"Stop," Dean said tiredly, cutting him off. "I'm going to sleep."

Sam nodded, letting Dean have his dismissal, since pushing it would only cause a fight they didn't need right now. "Good night, Dean," Sam said.

"Night, Sammy," Dean replied, closing his eyes.

The End


End file.
